


Overtime at Eddie's

by GallicGalaxy



Category: Five Nights at Freddy's, Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Because of Reasons, Crossover, Gen, Mount Massive Pizzeria, totally necessary, why do I keep doing this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-08 17:31:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3217568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GallicGalaxy/pseuds/GallicGalaxy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By company request, software technician Waylon Park fills in for a former security guard at the well-known Mount Massive Pizzeria for one night. <br/>What could possibly go wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Very Poor Career Choice (Stupid, Mr. Park)

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I definitely needed to write another lame Fnaf crossover, didn't I? For those of you who've read my previous one (A Certain Number of Nights at Monobear's), you'll probably find the crossover concept similar, with the animatronics taking the form of humanoid robots. There are numerous aspects of similarity, but it's fairly different all-in-all. Mainly because this time there's only one night, the night guard(s) leave the back office, and the trust between humans and robots fluctuates between "Okay you guys are alright" and "Ahhhh no no no run away really fast". This was inspired by a number of different Fnaf songs, and there are even references here and there.  
> I swear Imma get the actual story up ASAFP! There may be three chapters because I may write *le creepy epilogue* again.

_Dear Mr. Park,_

_We sincerely apologize for removing you so suddenly from your usual out-of-the-way job, but a very sudden issue has arisen. As you may know, our main front has been closed down temporarily following an incident involving our humanoid robots that occurred previously at a pre-planned event. Unfortunately, we have not yet made arrangements to deactivate the robots, as we are still hoping to get the man who programmed them here to help with our investigation. Another unfortunate circumstance is that the nighttime guard we've had working at that facility for the past six days is no longer available. The robots, now potentially unstable, must still be watched over._

_You are the only employee who is qualified to take on this role for the final night. You will receive due bonus pay equivalent to overtime for a standard security guard. You will not have to move from your safe office position at all for the duration of your six hours. All you need to do is look at those monitors, which you should be familiar with, and make sure that the robots do not attempt to leave, damage the facility, or damage each other. You will remain there from midnight to six a.m., whereupon the robots' night mode will deactivate and we will be able to safely take over the building again. As long as you stay in the back office, you should be fine._

_Please do not attempt to 'fix' any of the robots. We do not doubt your software expertise, but those robots' AI coding is far more complex than that of the computers you work with. They've already been tampered with, and the last thing we need is further malfunction. The only thing you'll need to do is close your doors if the robots do happen to move around and get too close to your office. It worked for our previous guard for six nights, so it should work for you for one._

_Murkoff Entertainment is not responsible for any damage to your person, property, or psyche that may occur while working the job specified above._

_Regards,_

_Murkoff Entertainment_

 


	2. Six Hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ughhh sorry this took an eternity. Also sorry if parts of this don't make sense but it's DONE you guys OMFG.  
> Sooo if any of you read CNNAM, it's similar to that overall. I will explain the roles beforehand once again:  
> Eddie is Freddy (Yaay), Doctor Trager is Bonnie (Because why not), Frank Manera is Chica (Omg sorry I couldn't resist the 'Let's Eat' joke), and Chris Walker is Foxy (And I accidentally made him adorable, sorry). Oh, and the Walrider is Golden Freddy, but I don't think the word 'Walrider' is even used here once. Father Martin makes a brief appearance to pay tribute to a certain Fnaf legend you may recognize ;)

Waylon Park had never been in the main front before. He was quite surprised that he'd been called there, and nervous, because he'd never guarded anything a day in his life, but he told himself he would do it. After all, how much harm could really come to him spending one night in a silly children's pizzeria? Plus, he had a steady job, and he would probably lose it if he refused. That was also a pretty big factor.

The robots did look kinda creepy in the dark, with their eyes pointed downwards, and their faces fixed and stagnant. They all looked...sad, almost. Most of them had been at least partially dismantled, and a number of them were also missing some of their clothing. Waylon wondered why, but then he figured that they'd need at least some of their clothes removed while they were being worked on.

He approached the stage cautiously, growing braver when he saw that they did not move. That one in the center was Eddie, no doubt about it, and also the only one still wearing his entire outfit. He didn't look like he'd been altered whatsoever, in fact. Waylon took another bold step towards him, reaching out and touching the mechanically jointed bear ears on top of his head. “Why'd they give you guys these silly little animal ears?” He mumbled, not looking for a response.

Waylon turned his attention to the left, focusing now on the robot who seemed the worst for wear. He had unidentified wires or tubes of some sort fixed to the exterior of his arm, and one of his eyes appeared to be missing and the socket somewhat torn up. There were a few rifts in is exoskeleton around it, and his outer covering seemed in general disrepair. He was wearing what looked like a surgical mask, and Waylon lifted it cautiously, seeing that the casing around half his mouth had been removed. “Eugh. You're not looking too good.” Waylon murmured, letting the mask fall down again.

Waylon batted at the purple rabbit ears on his head. They were much larger than Eddie's, and they cast shadows over his face. They looked downright comical, especially without his accompanying outfit. He was wearing only a tattered apron and a red bowtie. He was holding a guitar, but his fingers weren't moving over it at all. Waylon glanced back to Eddie, realizing that he was also holding his microphone in much the same manner, positioned as though he was still singing.

Waylon crossed over to the other side of the stage, redirecting his attention towards the final member of the band. Waylon cautiously shuffled through his long, ragged hair, but he didn't appear to have ears like the others. The only thing he had was a brightly decorated bib that said 'Let's Eat!', and even that was slightly battered. He was also missing most of his clothes, which Waylon was starting to think was just stupid. Why starting taking them apart, remove the bulk of their outfits, and then not deactivate them?

Waylon sighed and gave them all one final glance. He smiled a little, his bravery slightly increased by their lack of reaction, and walked on towards the back office with haste. He seemed to suddenly lack his previous interest in his surroundings, as he utterly failed to notice that there was a separate stage off to the side. Granted, the long, swathing curtains did disguise it somewhat among the endless darkness, but it was nonetheless present. A large, new-looking sign had been put up in front of it, which clearly displayed the words '- _Sorry!- Out of order'_.

Waylon paid no mind to it and went on his way down the east hall. He stopped there a few times to gaze at the posters on the walls, taking in the proper appearances of all the animatronics as displayed there. Eddie looked pretty much the same, blue eyes bright, smile broad, microphone in hand. The other two looked quite distinctly different. The masked one was still wearing the same mask on the poster, but his glasses and eyes were intact, and he was wearing a long purple jacket, a white undershirt, and the same red bowtie. He looked much less ruined, with fuller hair and a less withered covering.

The third one was in a similar situation, with his poster figure's hair well-groomed, and his bib accompanied by a summery yellow outfit, the edges of which seemed to be trimmed with...feathers? Yeah, feathers. He was holding a plate with a pink cupcake on it, and brandishing it quite flamboyantly, in fact.

Waylon chuckled almost inaudibly at how different they had once appeared. So sleek and cheerful and elegant, in contrast to their current states of disrepair - with the exception of the oddly untouched Eddie. As far as he knew, only those three existed.

Only those three were on the poster in the office, behind a gently-spinning fan. The desk was a mess, which naturally made Waylon feel quite welcome. He re-organized it to the best of his ability, finding that most of the papers cluttering the desk were of no importance to him. There was one, however, hidden neatly, scrawled on a piece of notepad paper, that caught his attention:

_Dear Meat,_

_I'm sorry they picked you, dude. I don't know who you're going to be, or why the hell they did; they probably secretly want to kill you. Anyway, 'Murkoff Entertainment' probably omitted some major details in their request letter. Namely, what's actually going on in this place._

_The robots walk around. Don't let them in. They look like people, but they aren't. The whole 'Murkoff Entertainment is not responsible for death or dismemberment' thing still applies, and if you die, then you're nothing to them but a stain on the floor. I don't know what they told you, but I was told that if they saw me, they'd stuff me into a suit and kill me._

_If you haven't heard about what happened today yet, you're probably just taking their word for it. I don't know what they called it, probably something like a 'trans-machinal incident'. What really happened was that one of those creepy robots, the biggest one, bit a kid. A 10-year-old girl. He bit her head, crushed her skull, and nearly killed her. Instant lobotomy by robot._

_They tend to leave stuff like that out. You probably haven't heard about what happened to me at all, because they want to keep you there. I received an injury a little while ago due to a 'machinery mishap'. They made the whole thing sound like it was my fault. Also failed to mention to most people that the injury consisted of me losing two of my fucking fingers._

_They also probably didn't tell you about the other reason they're closing: the reports. Yeah, those fuckin' robots are bleeding. And remember, the company message says they contain 'no organic material whatsoever'. But I was one of the guys who submitted those reports, and I know what I saw: blood, mucus, and god knows what leaking out of their eyes, ears, and mouths. They reek like the walking dead too, and worst of all, this little factor is only a few days old. The company keeps saying that it's probably a 'fluid leak' or some bullshit; I can tell you it's not._

_They're bugging out like crazy, and it doesn't look like they've even been cleaned. Some of them have been half-dismantled, but they're all filthy and they still reek. One has fluid tubes in his arm, and another has clamps on his jaw, and they're acting like that'll fix the goddamn problem._

_God, I'm nervous back here. I'm writing this note while I'm working because I don't even know if I'll be around tomorrow. It's not even them, really. It's the black suit. I don't know why it's here, but there's this a suit that was built but never finished, so it isn't painted, it's just black, and it looks absolutely terrifying. Supposedly, it's empty. But it's moving. I don't know how or why, but it is. More like a ghost than the actual animatronics move._

_It just appears in the office. In the hallways. Wires sticking out of its eyes. Blood coming from its mouth. Eyes empty, black. Everything black. Face looks like a skull._

_Nobody but you can see this letter. They'll throw it out, try to keep you from knowing. If you find this, consider yourself lucky. You know now. Watch for the black suit._

_Be careful around them, the robots. Don't make eye contact. Don't touch any of them, especially Eddie._

_Signed,_

_Miles Upshur_

Waylon's hands started to tremble as he read over the letter. Miles. He knew Miles. He was a friend. Waylon was the one who had suggested that Miles get a job working for Murkoff in the first place, and even put in a good word for him. Honestly, it was partially because he suspected there was something wrong going on here. If Miles had known Waylon would get this letter, would he have written it the same?

 _Probably not._ Waylon answered his own thought, looking over the letter again. Was he serious? Bleeding? They'd looked perfectly fine when Waylon saw them. And what was this about a black suit? There were only, like, three robots here. Then it occurred to Waylon that Miles had said something about a bite (Most likely the same incident mentioned in his request letter), referring to the 'biggest one' of the robots, and one who allegedly had clamps on his jaw.

From what Waylon had seen, the largest of the animatronics was Eddie, who was strangely the least altered, and didn't look like he was even capable of instant lobotomy by robot. Unless there was another one.

Waylon took this as a great opportunity to use his monitor for the first time. He'd programmed this exact monitor, before the building opened, quite a while back. It was linked to every camera in the building, and if he remembered correctly, there were ten or eleven of them. He panned quickly over all of them, taken aback by the fact that there was no video feed from the kitchen. He took careful note of the building's layout, and made sure to check on affairs over at the show stage.

One of them was already gone. The doctor, with the silly-looking rabbit ears. _Where was he?_ Waylon didn't have time to worry. He need to know something. _Oh, there's another stage._ Waylon growled internally. _That figures._ He squinted at the screen, trying to read the words on the sign hanging in front of the closed curtain. The first word was 'sorry', and from what he could see, it also read 'out of order'. That thought was fairly relieving. After all, if he was out of order, they'd probably shut him off already anyway, especially after an incident like that.

Now he had to look for the robot who was gone from the show stage. Unfortunately, in sparing a glance at the stage, Waylon found that the other extra had left as well, and Eddie himself had turned his body towards the camera, as if he knew exactly where it was. How did they get out so fast?

Waylon's hands were shaking madly as he struggled to check every camera, forgetting about the sketchy power in this place at night. He located the rabbit-eared robot, who was a tall silhouette in the darkened west hall. The other one was nowhere to be seen, but judging from what Waylon could hear, he was probably in the kitchen.

Waylon's entire body shivered, and he began to wonder if he should call Miles. He'd still be awake, probably, due to having been on a night-working schedule for so long. It didn't sound like a bad idea, after all. Maybe he would have some more advice.

He could barely dial the number with his trembling hands, and he was stricken with the fear that Miles wouldn't answer. _Please pick up._ He willed. _Pick up the goddamn phone, Miles._ Those tense seconds of waiting were perhaps some of the most agonizing moments of Waylon's life up to that point. Nothing could describe the purity of the terror in him.

“ _...Hello?”_

“Miles!” Waylon cried, breathing a shuddering sigh of relief.

_“Waylon? What the hell are you doing at the pizzeria? Wait, shit, don't tell me-”_

“I'm filling in for you.” Waylon answered. “And I have a few questions.”

“ _Okay, shoot.”_ Miles chuffed, almost incredulously.

“Okay, uhh, first of all, what the actual fuck is going on here?!?”

_“Some seriously fucked up shit. I tried to find out, dude, but...They didn't want me to. They knew I was onto something, and they fired me. It wasn't so bad at first, but then... I don't even know. Something happened. Something really bad.”_

“Yeah I noticed. Any advice for a first timer?”

 _“Wait, are you talking to me without paying attention to the doors? Not cool, dude.”_ At Miles' request, Waylon darted over and pressed both buttons labeled 'light', pleasantly surprised when there was nothing there.

“There's nobody out there.” Waylon assured him.

 _“They move fast.”_ Miles warned. _“Especially the big fucker. Check the cove camera pretty often or he'll sprint down there at full speed. For being so big, he moves damn fast. And even if you close that door, he'll slam it. I know he can hit it hard enough to force it open, but I've been lucky enough to avoid that.”_

“Wait, the one in the cove? The sign says he's out of order...”

 _“Out of order doesn't mean out of commission. Knowing Murkoff, I wouldn't be surprised if they just jammed that sign up there and left him as is. He can still get out. Watch him. Speaking of watching, you need to keep track of Eddie.”_ Waylon lowered the phone a little as deep, vague laughter echoed through the building. _“Doc and Frank will hover outside your doors for a second, but he won't. You can hardly see him on your cameras, even with that power-sucking night vision on. You have to listen for him. He laughs when he moves, and he slips in through the right door.”_

“Okay...” Waylon whimpered. “I think I heard him...God, how do they move so fast?” Miles sighed from the other end of the phone.

_“I'm coming out there.”_

“Wait, Miles-”

 _“Don't blame yourself. It's my decision. I started a mystery and didn't solve it. Now, please try to hold tight until I get there. I'll go as fast as I can, but you need to be aware. Stay safe.”_ Miles hung up promptly, and Waylon dropped the phone with a deep sigh of relief, practically collapsing over the desk.

“Hello, little darling.”

_Shit._

Waylon turned towards the right door in a halting, almost mechanical fashion, deathly afraid of what he might see before him. Exactly as he feared, there was Eddie. He was a lot bigger than he looked on the stage, easily over 6 feet tall and incredibly broad-shouldered. Waylon backed up a few steps, still quivering, desperately thinking of a way to get away.

“Have I seen you before? Yes, I think so...” Eddie purred, striding up to Waylon with ease. “Maybe... Just before I woke up?”

 _They could see me?_ Waylon worried, playing with his hands. He'd thought the robots were completely inactive before. Waylon shuffled back a little more, avoiding eye contact.

“Are you alright?” Eddie gasped worriedly, continuing his forward movement. “Are you lost, little darling.”

“Umm, n-no...” Waylon said meekly, backing up even more, now almost safely into the left doorway.

“Hiya, buddy!” A brand new voice chimed in from what sounded like directly above Miles' head. Miles lurched forward, startled by this new noise, and managed to throw himself into Eddie's chest while trying to get a better look at whoever else it was.

It was the robot with those silly purple rabbit ears, his eye socket wires glinting softly, and his tattered mask looking downright filthy in the office lighting. Waylon assumed that he was the 'Doc' that Miles had mentioned on the phone.

“He's very frightened.” Eddie whispered, pulling Waylon against his chest with an embrace like a vise grip.

“Oh, now, what's the little bit got to be so afraid of?” Doc giggled, crouching beside Waylon.

“I don't know...” Eddie replied, looking down at Waylon. Waylon pressed his face against Eddie's chest for lack of a better reaction. Eddie petted his head softly.

Whoever had made these things had done far too good of a job. They felt exactly like human beings, but without the natural bodily warmth. Like the living dead, with stiff, cold bodies. Waylon squeaked almost inaudibly, clinging to Eddie and playing up the while 'lost child' thing. He could hear softer, lighter footsteps coming from somewhere down the east hallway, but he didn't dare to look up.

“Should we show him around?” Doc asked, peering at Waylon where he was hidden in Eddie's arms.

“I don't know.” Eddie murmured. “Would you l-l-l-like us to give you a tour?” He questioned, stuttering randomly.

“S-Sure.” Waylon replied, trying to hide the fact that he was shaking way more than any human being should. “I-I guess...” Eddie took Waylon's hand and led him over to the door, where the third animatronic, with his scraggly hair and beard, was cautiously peering in.

“W-w-what have we here?” He asked, in a very deep, raspy, creepy voice. Waylon thought that it sounded like his voice box had been tampered with. There was no way he sounded like that all the time.

“A new friend.” Doc replied cheerfully.

“Heh, isn't he cute?” Eddie murmured, his hand wrapped very strongly around Waylon's considerably smaller one.

“Hrr, certainly.” The bearded one rasped. Waylon tried to remember what the other name Miles had said was. Something with an F.

“What's your name, buddy?” Doc questioned, using Waylon's head as an armrest for a second.

“Waylon.” He managed to reply, clearing his throat nervously. _God, Miles. Drive faster._ He prayed.

“What a cute name.” Doc chuckled, moving to the unoccupied side of Waylon, successfully trapping him. “D-D-Doctor Bonnie Trager, at your service.” He flourished, bowing courteously. “But you can call me Doctor Trager, or just Doc if you want.” Waylon nodded in acceptance.

“Eddie.” The other introduced, his hand on his chest. “Eddie Fazbear.”

“And Frank Manera.” The last one finished. “Pleased to meetcha.” Waylon smiled fearfully and just nodded. He was looking for what was out of place about that last one's name, but it made too much sense. So did his appearance. He seemed like some sort of afterthought.

Eddie pretty much dragged Waylon along the hallway, bubbling about how much fun they were going to have, while the creak of mechanical footsteps signaled that the other three were following close behind. When they reached the show stage, Miles was nowhere in sight. Waylon hoped that didn't mean he'd gone down the other hallway and completely missed all of them.

“Well, here we are, out in front!” Eddie cheered, finally letting go of Waylon. They were all still way too close to him. So far, they hadn't tried to kill him. They seemed pretty nice, all-in-all, despite the fact that they were treating him like a child. Maybe they were programmed to treat all humans like children.

“There's the stage, over there.” Eddie said, pointing. “And all the dining tables. And over there...” He trailed off. “Ooh, the cove...”

“Say, shouldn't we have one more friend?” Doc asked, tapping his fingers against his legs.

“Yes, we should!” Eddie declared, adjusting his bowtie and puffing out his chest. “Where's our good old pal Foxy Walker?”

 _Oh god oh god oh god..._ Waylon raged internally. _Please don't get him out here._ Doc stepped forward, towards the star-covered curtains, his ears whirring loudly as they perked up. They still looked silly with so little hair.

“Maybe we need to call him out.” Eddie pronounced, ushering Waylon in the direction of the cove.

“C-Can't you just...check behind the curtain?” Waylon asked tentatively, noticing how close Doc was at this point.

“Protocol denied.” Eddie uttered in a low tone. “Out of order.” So, they could read the sign, or they at least understood what was going on. Their programming, for some reason, told them not to mess with the cove's exterior, but they were still looking for a loophole.

“Okay, we'll call him out, then.” Waylon said hastily, not wanting to offend them in the slightest.

“Alright, then!” Eddie laughed. “ _Foxy!_ ” He called. A chorus of distinct noises came from behind the curtain, like metallic snakes pulling against the walls of a tin shed. Eddie waited for a moment, with Doc's ears still trained on the cove. “ _Foxy!_ ” They cried again, together now. The noise came again, louder, accompanied by even more creaking strain, then the sound of something snapping.

“One more time kids, nice and loud!” Eddie urged, patting Waylon's shoulder. “ _Foxy!_ ” The four of them shouted, including Waylon's meek screech. The snapping sound repeated threefold, along with a dreadfully loud clanking, and the sound of splintering wood.

A face peered out of the curtain, then followed by the emergence of a ludicrously large robot. He had to have been nearly seven feet tall when he stood upright, and he wasn't wearing a shirt either. There were holes and rifts in his exoskeleton, revealing shiny metal plating and creaking crossbeams. Whatever had been done to that half of Doc's mouth had been done to this one's entire mouth, and some odd clamps were fastened around the edges.

His teeth were sharp. Very sharp. Massive, long, gleaming white teeth. His eyes were milky white, smaller than the others'. He was incredibly dismantled, with several gaping holes in his outer layers, and metallic bits and pieces hanging out of him. He had claws to match his teeth, and his wrists and ankles had been formerly bound with heavy-duty chains. Apparently their calling had urged him to snap them. So lucky.

He had ears, too. Big, triangular red ears, which descended down into what appeared to be a mane or ruff on his neck, shoulders, and head. He was the only one among them who had an easily visible tail, and that was because his long, fluffy tail was almost the size of Waylon himself.

How. Who. Why. How was this thing ever allowed in a children's restaurant? Who decided it was a good idea? And _why_?!?

The thing they had addressed as Foxy shook his head, making stuttering grunting noises. His chains clinked whenever they moved, and each step sent vibrations running through the ground. “Oh, dear, it looks like he's lost his voice...” Eddie whimpered, making a sad face.

“He's got clamps on his jaw...” Waylon thought aloud. “We just need to take them off...” Eddie twitched, but did nothing. Foxy lashed his tail, looking over his friends. His sharp teeth were clearly visible, with what might have been dried blood between them.

“Protocol denied.” Eddie mumbled, turning his eyes down. “An official put those on. We can't take them off. Only an official can do that.” Waylon wasn't too happy with himself, but...he felt kinda bad. Foxy, if that was his name, was twitching, and Waylon figured he wasn't able to take his own mouth clamps off either.

“Hey, Foxy?” Waylon beckoned. Foxy perked up his ears and looked at him, making an indiscernible sound that was stifled by his forced-shut mouth. “Hey, come here.” Waylon offered, gesturing for him to get closer. Foxy lumbered over, whining quietly and shaking his head.

Waylon couldn't believe what he was doing. He slowly reached out his hand, approaching Foxy like he was a panicked horse. He touched Foxy's head, petting his red mane, then his ears, then moving down to his nose and finally his jaw. Waylon unhooked the clamps pulling his jaw joints shut, from the inside first, and pulled them off.

Foxy opened and closed his mouth a few times, his joints squeaking a little, and his ears moving to an alert position. He then nudged Waylon repeatedly with his head, which seemed almost like an aggressive gesture. Waylon tensed and backed up, remembering suddenly that Foxy had allegedly been responsible for some life-threatening catastrophe and that there was still dried blood in his teeth.

“That's affection, that's affection.” Doc assured him. “See? He's nuzzling you.” He giggled. Nuzzling?

Foxy brushed Waylon with his tail, almost bowling him over. He looked at Waylon expectantly, almost smiling with his broken mouth. Okay, maybe it was affection. “Hey, big guy...” Waylon stammered. The others seemed to give Foxy a wide berth, but that was understandable.

“Walker.” The robot introduced, holding out his large, clawed, chain-bound hand.

“Waylon.” Waylon replied, shaking said hand tentatively. “W-Would you rather I call you Foxy or Walker?”

“Walker.” He repeated, letting go of Waylon's hand.

“Okay.” Waylon squeaked with a nod. “Nice to meet you.” Walker, apparently, tapped Waylon's nose with his tail tip. Waylon almost sneezed, feeling synthetic fur tickle his nostrils. He rubbed his nose and smiled, oddly giddy at this point. Walker sort of glared at the others, as if defending Waylon. Eddie ruffled Waylon's hair and patted his shoulders from behind, laughing quietly.

Maybe this place wasn't so bad, actually.

“ _Not in control...”_ Okay, no, maybe it was still bad. Who'd said that?

Waylon looked over his shoulder, knowing that the animatronics were still pretty much surrounding him. Eddie moved from behind Waylon to standing by his side, grinning. “ _S-Someone else..._ ” A strange voice that sounded like it came from him whispered. Eddie jerked his head away, jaw twitching.

Walker perked up his ears, angling them sharply towards Eddie, and uttered a low, raspy growl. Virtually the whole room froze at this sound. Waylon couldn't say he was fond of the way that Eddie and Walker were glaring at each other. It seemed incredibly confrontational, like they were two dogs about to go at each other's throats. As cool as robot battles were, Waylon didn't particularly want to get caught in the middle of one.

Eddie seemed to relax after a moment, as whatever had overtaken him faded. Walker kept watching him, very alert and very wary, and Eddie returned the favor, likely taking this as a challenge to his authority. Eddie started pacing, almost nervously, for no discernible reason. “Heh, don't you worry, little darling...” He mumbled, addressing Waylon without looking at him. _Okay, seriously, why did you all ask me my name if you're not going to acknowledge it?_ “There's just a...a little g-g-glitch in the system.” Eddie continued, something unknown glistening in his eyes.

Waylon heard the front door unlock and creak open, and he looked towards it with extreme hesitance. Miles was here.

Never had Waylon seen such an interesting combination of facial expressions. Miles began with fearful surprise, then alarmed confusion, which then mingled with disappointed exasperation. The robots all watched Miles as he slid forward, taking a moment to recognize his face.

“Hey-hey buddy!” Doc cheered. “You're back...” Miles paused stiffly and observed the animatronics warily.

“Hey...” Miles stammered. “Good to see you...” Miles looked at Waylon while he spoke, confused and somehow utterly disappointed at the same time. Waylon edged his way out of the congregation, still smiling cheerfully in order to keep the robots calm. Miles grabbed Waylon by his wrist and pulled him to what was apparently a safe distance. “Sorry, but I need to talk to him for a moment!” Miles announced, leading Waylon hurriedly towards the backstage storage room.

“Oh, where are you going in such a hurry?” One of them asked, but received no answer as Miles dragged Waylon out of earshot.

“What were you doing?!?” Miles hissed, pulling open the backstage door.

“I-I...They just showed up in the office, okay?” Waylon tried to explain. “I was trying not to die!”

Miles sighed loudly as he closed the door behind them. It was pitch black in there without what little light came from outside. “D-Do they ever come back here?” Waylon asked, almost inaudible.

“Doc does sometimes. Don't know about the others. Walker doesn't; he's got an agenda and it only leads him on a specific path for the most part.” Miles replied, breathing heavily.

“It's really dark in here.” Waylon panted. He couldn't even see his hands in front of his face. “Is there a light we can turn on?”

“Yeah, but it might burn out the power. I've got a flashlight...” Miles mumbled. He turned on said flashlight, gently illuminating their immediate area. “We need to get back in the office.” Miles stated flatly. “That's the safest place. Not wandering out here with them.” A number of concerned voices could be heard calling from somewhere on the other side of the wall.

“They don't seem so bad...” Waylon murmured, crossing his arms.

“Looks can be deceiving.” Miles grunted. “Even if they act like sweethearts, there's something wrong with them. They're glitching, and they're unstable.” Waylon sighed and looked at his feet. He was just trying to find consolation where he could get it. “Something is very, _very_ wrong here.” Miles panted. “And I only think I know what it is.”

From somewhere within the incredibly dark room, a cacophonous noise began that sounded like the repeated creaking of aged metal. Both Miles and Waylon froze, exchanging a very brief glance.

“Miles, how many animatronics are there?” Waylon asked, trying desperately to remain calm.

“Four.” Miles answered heavily, his throat tight with fear. “Five if you count that black thing, but it doesn't make any noise. I-I mean, there used to be rumors about a sixth one, but that was just a stupid legend. Practically a joke now. Because the security door...to the backstage room had a faulty lock, so the door would fall open, and people started believing that there was some old sixth animatronic who was opening it. Th-they said that he would roam the halls and change the posters and stuff...” He squeaked, backing up against the door.

“I'm going to turn on the light.” Waylon declared, edging himself along the wall as slowly as possible.

“It's beside the security exit...” Miles huffed, trying to stay as close to the other entrance as possible. Waylon found something that felt like a light switch, noticing that there was a bit of a draft over by it. He flipped it on, his eyes stinging from the sudden change in light levels.

“Oh, my God...” Miles gasped, prompting Waylon to turn around and see at what Miles was seeing.

He didn't know what he expected, but it wasn't that.

The back wall, above shelves and shelves of robotic pieces, was painted with what appeared to be blood. The words 'it's me' had been written several times, the letters overlapping and overlaying each other, some larger than others, and accompanied by numerous bizarre and intricate symbols. Waylon, not knowing how to react, turned his eyes to Miles, wondering if maybe this was just an everyday occurrence for this place. Based on his facial expression, Waylon guessed it wasn't.

“Uhh, is that...” Waylon asked, his voice more of a squeak than anything. “Is that normal?” Miles didn't answer, he just stood more still than Waylon had ever seen a human being. Waylon peered over at him and noticed that he wasn't looking at the wall. He was looking down. Waylon followed Miles' eyes across.

Standing on the floor was something that might have been human, but upon closer inspection, one of its arms was broken, the lower half of it made of mangled metal. So, it was a robot, but it didn't look like any of the other ones. With his functional hand, he was using two fingers to paint shapes on the wall, but his body mostly blocked whatever it was he was painting.

Miles and Waylon stood silently for a moment, until Waylon decided to take a few bold steps forward. The newcomer did not react to Waylon's footsteps at all. “Hello?” Waylon called, able to smell the pungent odor of blood quite distinctly at this range. This new animatronic made noise with every single movement, constantly creaking, clanking, and whirring.

“Yes, child?” He requested, not turning his eyes toward Waylon as he spoke. He looked old. Incredibly old, probably older than any of the other animatronics. His paint was worn and scratched, his body noisy, cumbersome, and obviously decaying, his outfit battered and patched, and even his model style different from the others.

“Uhh, who are you?” Waylon continued, trying to get a good look at what he was finger-painting on the walls of the backstage storage room. He could see a circle, which upon closer inspection seemed to be a face with a mouth and eyes. Miles grew a little braver and managed to come closer, but he still remained behind Waylon.

“I am not of importance.” The ancient animatronic replied promptly, but with a strange patience betrayed by his voice. Waylon watched him draw long lines of red from what were apparently the face symbol's eyes, as though it was crying or bleeding. Waylon wondered where he'd gotten this much blood from, but it was probably better not to ask. “I am not real, my son.” He buzzed, leaving Waylon quite surprised that his voice box worked at all. “I am but a voice for one who has none. I am _his_ voice. His expression.”

“Who is...” Waylon murmured, looking around. He caught a glimpse of something over his shoulder and did an immediate about-face, remembering Miles' accounts of the black suit. This other newcomer was not black, and not a suit.

It looked like a human, a fairly small one, on its knees, edging along the wall. It was staring up at the writing and muttering to itself. It moved by pulling itself sideways as though strafing along a ledge, and did not attempt to get to its feet. Waylon approached it in much the same way as he had the old robot.

“Who are you?” Waylon asked. If it was a human, it was in very poor condition. It appeared to be masculine, without hair, and quite small in stature, like a child. Numerous tubes and wires were hooked to his body, some medical and some mechanical. In places, metal could be seen glittering from locations where it shouldn't have been at all. The poor creature did not respond, just continued to mumble under its breath. Waylon was almost close enough to hear it.

He kneeled down in order to get even closer, trying to listen. After a few repetitions of the same sounds, he made out “ _S...A...V...E...T...H...E...M...”_ , which the child-like thing was repeating in a constant rhythm.

“Save them?” Waylon questioned, keeping his tone soft. “Save who?” The other pawed at the writing on the wall, smudging a few corners, then hung his head against it. After a moment, he lifted it and swung his neck, turning his face towards Waylon.

Waylon was quite taken aback. He appeared to completely lack eyes, and while his mouth was mostly intact, his teeth were not. Some robotic appliance had been re-wired where his human teeth were supposed to be, like a metal jaw inside his real one. Due to this, his gums were completely mutilated, but he was not bleeding from anywhere. Not his eyes, mouth, or damaged body. What looked like deep wounds littered his chest and collarbone, but they were not bleeding either. He smiled with his lips, which were surprisingly intact, and did not take his hands off the wall.

“Save them.” He whispered, in a voice so young it made Waylon's heart skip a beat in disgusted horror. “I tried. I tried to save them...” He choked, his arms shaking as he supported himself. He turned his head back to the writing, like his deformed eye sockets could still see. “And I failed.” He hissed tearfully. “Oh, you two should leave.” He sighed, hanging his head again.

“W-Why?” Waylon begged, wringing his pale hands.

“They took me out.” The strange child hissed. “One goes out, one goes in. Making room for the newcomers who are more fun to play with. They took me out to put one of you in...” He stammered, his entire body spasming now as his jaw hung open.

“O-Out of where?” Waylon asked, now mostly numbed from sheer stark disbelief. The child took a long, shallow stammering breath, like the air he inhaled stopped in his throat and didn't actually reach his lungs.

“It's gold on the inside.” He panted, his wires quivering. Waylon began to wonder if he could actually hear anything. “But nobody knows that. It's our little secret.” He whispered, with what sounded like hushed awe weighing down on his voice. “Three can keep a secret, right? Three can keep a secret, if two of them are dead.” He made a noise that sounded like pained laughter, but it was interrupted by a number of other atrocious sounds.

Waylon exchanged a wide-eyed look with Miles, broadcasting their mutual confusion. _Was that a threat or a warning?_ As neither of them had an answer, they re-directed their attention towards the boy. He had removed himself from the wall, and was holding something in his left hand that hadn't been there before.

“Here it is.” He murmured, lifting his hand and handing the small, battered, burned object to Waylon. Waylon touched it as though he was afraid it would disintegrate, which was honestly a reasonable thing to expect. It didn't, which was almost surprising. “I took it, before... And he tried to cut it up. Burn it. Get rid of it. But I kept it in the end.”

Whatever it was had obviously been burned a good deal. It felt like heavily warped plastic on the outside, and possibly paper on the inside. It was thin, flat almost, and as Waylon turned it over, it almost like like...A laminated security pass.

“You have it now.” The boy hissed, his jaw twitching uncontrollably. “Y-You have a chance. He will guide you. You have a chance to do what I could not. To s-s-sa...” The boy's body convulsed, and the areas around his wounds turned a shadowy kind of black. “ _S...A...V...E...T...H...E...M..._ ”

With that, the lights flickered, and the security exit door swung closed. Waylon hadn't even noticed it was open. The voices of the animatronics could be heard chorusing from outside, followed by heavy knocking on the door.

“Are you still in there, little darling?” A voice that was undeniably Eddie's beckoned. The door handle shifted loudly. “Why did you lock the door? Don't you...Don't you love us? Don't you want to be our friend?”

“Y-Yes!” Waylon cried hastily. “We'll just be a moment, I promise!”

“Shit.” Miles whispered. “I didn't lock that door. Someone else did...” He continued, turning his head back to where the boy had been. He was gone, but the burned artifact he'd handed Waylon remained solid. “What _is_ that?” Miles questioned.

“I think it was once a badge or a security access pass.” Waylon noted. “But it's so torn apart and burned that I can't really read anything on it. There was a photo, but it's been utterly destroyed. I don't think we have any way of knowing who it ever belonged to...” He mumbled, his voice fading away as he turned it over several times.

“Let's keep it.” Miles declared, more of a command than a suggestion. He pulled a thin file out of his jacket, which had the words _'Mount Massive Pizzeria Project'_ scrawled on the front of it.

“Were you carrying that thing the whole time?” Waylon asked, letting him take the badge and tuck it into the file.

“Yes.” Miles answered. “It's got all the research I've collected on this place so far. Not much, but I was hoping to get more. Not expecting to, really, but hoping.”

“What do you have?” Waylon asked nervously.

“Mostly just a lingering suspicion.” Miles sighed, closing the file but not tucking it away again. “If you're going to ask what that was, I don't know. But I have an idea.” Waylon stayed silent, looking at Miles expectantly. “I...I think that there are people inside those animatronics.” Miles stammered, glancing around at all the empty robot suits and various creepy mechanisms lining the shelves. “Dead people.”

A moment of complete silence followed, as Waylon realized that Miles' idea made all too much sense, until at least he broke the silence by saying, “Dead people. A-Are you sure they aren't like...l-living people?”

“They couldn't be.” Miles grunted, crouching down and pulling a creepy-looking hollow head from one of the shelves. “Because, if I was told correctly...” He mumbled, peering into the jaw and eye sockets of said exoskeleton piece. “Yep, there they are. If you were to put one of these things over a human head, these crossbeams here would shatter the temples, and these ones would split the jawbone...” Miles continued, referring to objects Waylon couldn't see. Miles lowered the empty head and tossed it to Waylon, who surprisingly managed to catch it. He peered into it, moving around the wires and examining the structure of the exoskeleton.

“Put it on, and pop goes the weasel. Eyes and teeth come right out.” Miles finished, sighing nervously. Waylon seemed disturbed by this thought as he slowly lowered the robot head and put it back in its rightful place.

“So you think...”

“I think someone killed...a-a couple people. Maybe children.” Miles replied, before the question was even complete. “And shoved their dead bodies into the performing robots. That's why they're bleeding, and the blood they're leaking is starting to corrupt their internal mechanisms. That might be why the big one bit that kid.” Waylon remained silent.

“So, that thing was, like, a ghost?” He wondered, more to himself than Miles. “And what he said about them taking him out means...”

“The other one looked like the fictitious sixth animatronic.” Miles interjected. “But...I think you're right. I think that they took him out of the black suit, that's just my guess, and they're planning to put one of us in there.”

Silence. Silence reigned again, at least until the security exit clicked and slowly drifted open, drawing both their eyes to it. Miles drew out two small notepads and pens from his pockets and handed one of them to Waylon.

“We're heading straight to the back office. I'll take the west hallway, you take the east one. Take notes. If you see anything, like a document or something placed where the posters usually are, take it. I'll put in the file.” He ordered. Waylon nodded without a word, taking what he had been assigned, and led the way towards the security exit.

On the way, Waylon noticed a small slip of paper fall from the inner door handle, and he picked it up immediately. Miles peered at it over his shoulder. It appeared to have been torn from old sheet music, but it was only one line, with no instrument listed. The lyrics below the notes read _'Ninety years without slumbering,'_. Miles seized it and slid it into his file, concerned by the sounds the animatronics were making from outside.

Upon exiting, they found that the animatronics had indeed been waiting for them. “Ah, there y'are, buddy!” Doc exclaimed, rushing towards Miles. “We thought we'd have to come in after ya!” Waylon felt long, thick fake fur brush his neck, which was a distinctly unforgettable feeling. Miles tensed up and jumped back, looking over his shoulder and seeing exactly what he expected to see.

Foxy Walker peered at Miles and made a confused growling sound, clicking his canine teeth together. “Oh, don't you mind him.” Doc said dismissively. “He's friendly; he just doesn't take too kindly to rule-breakers.”

“Rule-breakers?” Waylon squeaked, petting Walker's tail as it was draped over him.

“Oh, of course.” Doc chuckled, as the other two slowly trotted up behind him. “We have a few rules here at Eddie's, as one would anywhere, which you are expected to abide by.” His eye mechanisms whirred loudly from their open socket. “Now, some of them may not apply to you directly, like staying close to your mothers, but all you have to do is observe the ones that do! It's that easy. Just do that, and we'll b-b-b-be best frien-n-nds-s-s-szzz.” He buzzed, his jaw twitching as he spoke. His jaw joints glistened, and specks of black blood began to darken his surgical mask.

Walker put his tail in front of Waylon, as though to block him off from the others. “That's good to know.” Miles squeaked, brushing forward. “But we've got places to be.”

“Oh, but you just got back.” Doc hissed. “I missed you so much, buddy!”

“Well, Waylon has a job to do, and it's kind of important, so...” Doc tilted his head and gave Miles a sideways glare.

“Do you have that same job to do?” He asked, sadly and slightly irritably, like he'd been cheated out of something. Miles grabbed Waylon by his wrist, pulling him forward and prompting another growling noise from Walker. He provided to answer to the question posed and just darted away, pulling Waylon along behind him

“Miles...” Waylon hissed, realizing the ridiculousness of what he was about to say very suddenly. “You shouldn't be so mean to them...”

“Waylon, they're robots.” Miles retorted, nearly tripping over a chair as he led Waylon through the dining area.

“Yeah, but still... Maybe it would go over better with them if you were-” Waylon began, but he was interrupted.

“Where are you headed now?” Frank rasped, sliding up to them like a snake with his pallid eyes glittering. “Eddie was looking for you, you know.” Waylon looked towards Miles, and once their eye contact had been made, they both nodded. However, Miles seemed to have a different interpretation of what said nod meant, as he immediately let go of Waylon and sprinted away.

Waylon, confused, stared at Frank and his slightly bloodied bib for a second before he ran off in the opposite direction. He could only hope that Miles would make it there safely on the opposite route.

Waylon could hear relatively soft footsteps behind him, which meant that Frank was at least following. He didn't know if they would all follow him, or all follow Miles, or which ones would take which hallway. He tried to keep out of sight, which shouldn't have been too hard, since it was really dark in there. But staying out of sight went hand-in-hand with staying out of sound, which was slightly more difficult. He could hear Eddie laughing already, but he was probably just now leaving the main room.

Waylon edged along the wall, wondering whether or not he should just make a mad dash for the back room. Visibility was poor, and from what he'd seen, they were deceptively stealthy. As he stood there, a light flickered, illuminating something on the wall beside him. It looked like it was blood writing, which wasn't entirely unexpected, but he decided that what it said might be important.

He squinted to read it, because it was pretty much just slightly darker lettering in the darkness. _God always provides a way. Follow the blood._ Below that was what appeared to be the universal restroom symbol. _The bathroom?_ Waylon wondered. He hadn't set out a life protocol for having an ancient robot try to coax him into entering a bathroom in a building with very low power.

Waylon ran into the bathroom anyway, not slamming the door behind him to avoid getting caught. He took his notebook out for probable future use, but stopped to listen before he started writing. There were footsteps, either from something small and fairly close or something quite large a room or two over.

“Where did our little friend go to now?” A hoarse voice called, from very close to right outside the door. Waylon though fast and ducked into one of the bathroom stalls, keeping his feet off the floor, and trying to keep his breath down and sit as still and small as possible. This was a success-or-death situation. Either Miles was safer than ever or Frank would be not an idiot and force open the goddamn door and Waylon would be cornered and probably die.

“Hmm, he ran away.” Frank hissed. “M-Maybe we'll have to ( _Kill the traitor_ ) find him.”

 _Kill the traitor?_ Waylon thought. _What kind of glitch is that?_ He didn't actually want to find out, or find out why the robots were spontaneously speaking in low, whispery voices. It sounded like something more than a simple malfunction.

Waylon stayed as silent as possible, even lowering his breathing, trying to figure out what Frank was doing via sound. He strode along, his shadow flickering in the low light, and paused in the corner, where Waylon assumed he was glaring into the camera. “M-maybe he can see us...Maybe he's ( _Lost forever_ ) back in his place...”

 _Yes._ Waylon willed. _Yes I am. Totally not here at all._ Frank growled at the corner camera and walked out briskly, but Waylon remained still for a moment. Eventually he let his legs down and stood up warily, placing a trembling hand on the door. He noticed that there was a piece of paper taped to the inside of it, which he peeled off slowly and strained to read in the darkness:

_Upon a thorough search of the premises, we were unable to find the remains of the robot you were concerned with. You description does indeed resemble a former franchise mascot, known as [Name unreadable], a dog-like humanoid who appeared to depict [Unreadable]. He was retired a number of years ago due to concerns arising regarding religious symbolism as the restaurant became more popular. We were, however, unable to find physical proof of his presence whatsoever. Put simply, he no longer exists. It is possible that your security guards should try sleep therapy, stress management, or drug testing._

Waylon folded it hastily and tucked it into his pocket, hoping that the unreadable parts would be clearer if he had more light. He exited quickly but cautiously, then sliding back out into the main room. He kept to the wall, hearing Eddie laugh again, and with trembling hands he took out his notes and his pen.

_Laughing. Miles said he laughed, but I don't think so. I think he's crying._

Meanwhile, Miles was peeking behind the cove curtains, noting that the 'out of order' sign had been broken down. He saw the snapped remnants of chains on the ground, which he assumed had once been binding Foxy Walker down. Miles was already taking notes, unlike Waylon:

_Foxy Walker, bound in chains. Why chain up a robot instead of deactivating or disabling him? He seems to have some affinity for Waylon, though. Why? Wonder what Waylon did to earn his trust like that. Maybe he was right about being passive with them._

Miles halted his scribbling when he heard loud footsteps accompanied by the sound of chains clinking against each other. As good as being friends sounded, Miles was well aware of how erratic their behavior patterns actually were, and a bit more concerned with how dangerous they could potentially be. Especially that one.

Miles slipped away from the cove as quietly as possible, crouching against the wall to observe Walker as he returned. He tucked his note away into the folder, keeping his eyes trained on the massive, lumbering robot who was trotting towards the cove with unexpected speed.

Walker angled his ears in multiple directions, since he seemed to have poor vision, his tail twitching with hostility. He fixed his sight on the cove, pushing back the curtains as though he expected Miles to be there.

“Here somewhere...” His damaged voice echoed. Miles didn't dare move for a moment, afraid of how acute Walker's hearing was. Walker turned his head away for a split second, listening to Eddie's haunting laughter from across the room, and then crept back in that direction.

Miles finally started edging along the wall, daring to stand up. Walker wasn't gone forever, which meant he needed to be quick and stealthy: two things that were often difficult to combine.

Speaking of acute hearing, Miles didn't know where Doc was at all. Eddie's laughter was coming from the opposite side of the room, but that was honestly of little importance, as he could move both quickly and invisibly to any spot he wanted. He usually moved through that east half, thought. That meant Waylon was likely to be followed by Eddie and Frank, while Miles had to worry more about Foxy Walker and Doc Trager.

Waylon was sidestepping by the cracked kitchen door, hearing an awful clamor arise from inside, like someone was rifling through appliances...looking for something. Waylon didn't want to know what it was he was looking for. However, this meant that one of his adversaries was at least temporarily distracted, which gave him a perfect opportunity to get into the east hallway.

Waylon sprinted for the east hall entrance, hoping desperately that his footsteps would not be heard, or at the very least not paid attention to. He was in the home stretch now, possibly just moments away from entering the office. He breathed a ragged sigh of relief, hearing Eddie's deep, sobbing laughter echo through the dining area once more. Waylon placed hia hand against the wall, feeling something slightly wet, and he jumped back and tried to identify what it was he'd just touched.

Blood. Of course.

Waylon had smudged it, but there was more writing, much larger than it had been the last time he'd seen it. He backed up a little, trying to read it. _I am still here._ Waylon thought for a moment before writing another note, his hands shaking madly:

_I am still here. Who's still here? That boy? The black suit? That sixth animatronic?_

Waylon stopped when he heard Eddie laugh again, drawing quickly nearer. As he started back towards the office, a strange distorted robotic voice began to mumble from nowhere, creeping into Waylon's head like an itch he couldn't locate. He pressed himself against the wall, his vision flickering for a moment, sinking his nails into the wallpaper and trying to locate the source of the sound. He noticed that whatever posters had been on the opposite wall were gone, replaced by the same crying face symbol he'd seen the ancient robot paint backstage.

Accompanied by the 'I am still here' message, they were both saddening and terrifying. After a moment, he noticed a large, dark shape laying on the floor, its back against the wall, and what appeared to be its head lolling to the side. Blood trailed from the area where its mouth should've been, and shining wires snaked out from what could've possibly been orifices. It was so colorless that it was hard to determine what was what, as it just looked like a mass of black and glittering silver. After a second, it flickered, faded, and disappeared.

Waylon's eyes widened, and he strafed along the wall, using it to steady himself as he edged deeper into the hallway. A door swung open nearby, which he assumed was the kitchen, but he couldn't risk checking. He was trying to clear his head of that atrocious voice-like noise, which lingered so badly he couldn't tell if he was still hearing it or not.

Eddie's laughter was almost undeniably nothing but terrified sobs now, and it was very, very close to Waylon's location. Waylon put his hands over his head, panting and twitching, thinking to himself that all he needed to do was to get to the office, get to the office.

Miles, on the other hand, glanced around, keeping his eyes peeled. Those things could be sneaky, and apparently he was relying on obscure clues from an old robot that maybe didn’t actually exist to solve a possible murder mystery. Just fantastic.

Miles paused to look at the posters fixed to the wall, which had already been somewhat worn from years of hanging up in a place that was too cheap to replace them. He was taken aback to see the cheerful faces of the performing robots marred by glaring spots of red. He squinted at them, already quite certain that it was blood that had been smudged onto their faces, but he was more interested by how and where it had been placed.

Rather than just callously splattered or smeared, it had been painted on with a close precision. As though done with a paintbrush, trails of blood streamed from once-bright eyes and mouths in an eerily realistic fashion. It was so well-done that Miles legitimately wondered for a moment of the posters had just been printed that way and he’d never noticed. He cleared those thoughts from his head and made a note of it:

_The posters in the west hall are painted with blood. Doc, Frank, and Eddie all look like they’re bleeding from their eyes and mouths, just like what I saw the other day. Does he know? Has he seen it?_

Miles looked back up, noticing that there were also what appeared to be symbols or letters between the aged posters. _SAVE THEM._ He read. He didn’t know who they were yet, but he could guess what had happened to them. “I’ll try.” Miles whispered out loud, to no-one in particular. “I’ll try.” He repeated.

A whirring sound came from down the hall, causing Miles to wonder how one of them had gotten in front of him. “I can hear ya there, buddy!” An all-too-familiar voice chimed in. The only shot Miles really had was to see if he could get to the supply closet before Doc did. If not, he was caught. He chose to make a break for it, as quickly and quietly as possible, sliding into the supply closet and almost closing the door, but not quite, to avoid being heard.

There was a note affixed to the inside of the door, beneath the handle. He pried it out and tried to read it in the glow of the only light in the room. He was quite surprised to find that it was once again sheet music, but this time it was a full page with a title:

_Georges Bizet – Toreador March_

_As played in Carmen O._

Miles tried to run over the notes in his head, but his ability to read sheet music was rather poor, so he quickly gave up and tucked it into the folder in his jacket. He turned his head back up, peering through the narrow crack of the door, and then froze solid at a familiar kind of sound pattern: Footsteps, very loud ones, moving quickly with long strides.

It was Foxy Walker, sprinting down the hall at his maximum speed. Miles watched Walker's silhouette pass over the narrow crack of the doorway, and at this point he was close enough to hear his low growling and chains clinking, as well as the creaking of his aged crossbeams. Once Foxy Walker had passed by, shuffling and groaning, Miles practically threw himself out the door and pressed his body against the floor. It would have been futile to try to wait for Foxy and Doc to leave, so Miles would take his chances.

What looked like blood littered the floor where Foxy Walker had passed. Curious as to its origin, Miles reached a trembling, debilitated hand forward to investigate. He was almost alarmed when he did not feel soft liquid, and instead thick strands of synthetic fur curled around his fingertips. Fur? Dark red fur. Foxy Walker’s fur. Why was he shedding?

Miles glanced up nervously, seeing the tall, intimidating silhouette of Foxy Walker down by the office door. His triangular ears broke up the smooth, hard curves of his upper body, and his tail swished back and forth around his lower half, causing his outline to shift constantly. The light from the office made his teeth glitter and his glossy eyes shine, which only exaggerated his menacing appearance. An unknown object was hanging from his massive left hand, but Miles was too far away to see what it actually was. Walker’s ears were angling back and forth, seeking sounds to make up for his poor eyesight; with the way they were twitching, it was obvious he was searching for something.

Another tall, gangling figure seemed to walk from the wall itself, its curving ears making it instantly recognizable. “H-Hey there, n-n-nice to seeya.” Doc whistled.

“Where is it?” Foxy Walker grunted, his ears pricking to their ultimate point when he heard Doc’s voice.

“Wh-where is what?” Doc questioned, cocking his head. Foxy Walker paced a little, circling around him and pushing their little conversation even closer to Miles. “Our new buddy is around here s-somewhere, but I-I don’t know where he went to. H-He must be ( _Leaving us to rot_ ) v-very scared, I think.”

Miles tried to contain his breathing, ready to duck back into the supply closet if necessary. Foxy Walker reached his free hand up and clawed at his mane, in a way that initially looked like obsessive grooming. Miles didn't know why a robot would obsessively groom itself, but why did they do anything? Then, as Walker moved his battered fingers, it was quite apparent that he was intentionally pulling and tearing at his own mane, sinking his claws into his exoskeleton and damaging his face.

“No...” He snarled, looking around again with that same nervous disposition. A strange, garbled sound echoed along the barren hallway, one which froze Miles' blood even more. Foxy Walker gnashed his teeth and panicked, thrashing his head in every direction.

A silent apparition materialized beneath the hall's single, flickering incandescent light, but before it could move (If it were to), Foxy Walker lunged at it and slammed his jaws shut on empty shadow. It dissolved instantly, and Foxy Walker howled in rage, lashing his tail furiously.

He was close enough now for Miles to see what he was holding: an endoskeleton head, having been wrenched from its base, now hanging with Foxy Walker's thumb threaded through his jaw. He'd probably gotten it from the backstage storage room, but... for what reason? What did he plan to use it for?

Miles pressed himself to the wall as Foxy Walker strode by him. He paused to claw at his mane again, pulling it off his head, and tear minuscule metal pieces from his chest and arms. “Can't see...” He whined, tearing at his eye sockets. “Have to...stop it...” Miles held his breath until Walker shambled to the far end of the hallway, at which point he tried to take a note with stiff, trembling hands:

_Where does a robot get off on self-mutilation? I know Foxy Walker isn't quite cut from the same cloth as the others, but since when did his little agenda include tearing apart his face and pulling his fur out? I have no idea what purpose that could serve. The only thing he said about it was 'can't see' and 'have to stop it'. Stop what? The black suit? Why does it have such an adverse effect on him? Stop it... maybe, the way he was defending Waylon... Maybe he's not on their side. Maybe the big guy's not the problem. Maybe he's trying to stop it._

Miles was not in the clear yet, and certainly neither was Waylon. Waylon's main concern at his position was Eddie, whose alleged ability to teleport was creeping into the darkest part of Waylon's fears. He was dead sure at this point that there was no way he could get to the office before he encountered Eddie, and he was probably doomed to die.

Much to his own surprise, Waylon made it to the hall corner unharmed. He was still crouching to the best of his ability, his ears ringing with possibly non-existent sounds, when he arrived there. He rose a little, feeling safe beside the door, and peered at a sign affixed to the wall. It was a little list of rules, a cute thing, but more of a decoration than an actual guide with how far back in the hall it had been placed.

Most of them were standard things that one would tell children not to do, but somehow...the sixth one on the list seemed out of place.

_6\. Don't touch Eddie. Why only him? Why not 'don't touch any of the characters'? Are the other ones safe to touch? I would think Foxy Walker would be the one that everyone would go out of their way to avoid, but I guess that's just me._

Waylon continued looking ar the list of rules, keeping his ears alert and sparing a glance over his shoulder. Rules 7 and 8 were numbered, but...Wait, no, something else had been tacked in front of them. Waylon brushed it down and unfolded it. It looked like it was from a newspaper, a recent one, maybe, but still slightly damaged. Waylon held it to what little light could be seen coming from the office and tried to read it:

_Jackson stated that, “He just appeared with the kids, and nobody was quite sure where he came from. When I first saw him, he was very shaky, looked like he was about to fall over. His hair was messy and dirty, as were his clothes. We were curious as to who he was and why he was here, but when we tried to ask him he became nervous and fearful, crying as he begged to stay and covering his face and chest with his hands and arms. He kept saying that he was 'so hungry' and he 'just needed to sit down'.”_

_“We decided to let him stay, since the other kids seemed awfully fond of him. He ate like a wild dog and almost fell asleep a few times, once while he was eating. He was incredibly jumpy and didn't like being touched, especially by adults. I saw bruises in various states on his arms, wrists, and face, and occasionally he would pull his shirt away from his shoulder and pry at scabs there, most of which looked like scratches. I intended to make a call to Child Protective Services once the poor thing had eaten and rested for a moment, but he and those others disappeared before I got a chance.”_

While Waylon was trying to figure out what to make of this, he felt a cold, bloodless hand grace his shoulder.

“I finally found you, little darling.” Eddie whispered, with unjustified awe in his voice. Waylon tensed up and froze, lowering the puzzling article from his line of sight. “After all this searching, you have returned to me.” Waylon made no move to respond to any of his statements. “But...why did you leave me? I love you _so much_. You were...kind.” Eddie murmured, placing his other hand on Waylon's other shoulder. “So kind. So welcoming. Y-Your warmth, your life...”

“Uh-huh.” Waylon squeaked, trying to move forward just a little. He was literally only strides away from the door. Eddie locked his hands in place, gripping Waylon's shoulders with dangerous strength. “Well, I know, I-I do like you, but...I really need to get going...”

“You're going to _leave_?” Eddie hissed, sounding unbearably upset at the prospect. “Leave me...J-just like all the others. Hide from me. Pay no mind to the fact that _I_ held you when _you_ were afraid...” His voice sounded tight with abrupt disappointment and distress. It was nearly unbelievable that a robot could sound so painfully human. “ _Please don't leave me..._ ” He whimpered in a voice that was not his.

In the meantime, Miles Upshur had his own hands full. Foxy Walker had trotted off, probably searching for the battered black suit, but Doc was still striding around the hall like he owned the place. Though technically, in a way, he did. More so than Miles could've claimed to.

Doc had re-placed his guitar over his shoulders, and every now and again he would play some cute little cord and laugh a rough, breathless laugh. Miles was trying to avoid him, but he was far too clever and his senses far too acute. Even with one eye missing, he was dangerously perceptive. Miles started to wonder if there was even a point to hiding, since there was honestly no way Doc would just stride past him without noticing.

Miles stood up, having a moment of bravery, letting Doc see that he was there and he was not afraid. Really, he was, but he was pretending like he wasn't. Maybe that was how Waylon had gotten on the animatronics' good side: not bothering to hide his fear.

Miles wasn't taking that route. He was going to be brave, but mostly only because hiding wasn't an option. And only a certain degree of brave, anyway. It wasn't like he was going to get into a fistfight with Doc or anything. So, Miles was being slightly braver than he had previously been, but not quite as brave as he could've been. He wasn't going clear up to the border between bravery and plain stupidity.

“Hey, d-d-didja come outta hiding just to see me?” Doc whistled, leaning towards Miles as he spoke. “You're too sweet, buddy!” He chirped. Miles took a step back, gauging the distance between himself and the office door, and deciding that maybe confrontation wasn't the best idea.

And so, Miles the not-quite-as-brave-as-he-could've-been bravely ran away, his tune played on only by Doc Trager and his rusty toy guitar. He didn't even look over his shoulder to see if Doc was actually chasing him, he just sprinted and then collapsed into a cowering position in the corner, looking up to see if he'd knocked down any of the bulletins that had been pinned to the wall. He hadn't, but wait - two of them weren't the same as the other flyers. He took these down and tucked them away, finally looking back over to see if Doc was there. He was, his tall figure illuminated by the poor lighting, and he was glaring at Miles as though assessing the situation himself.

Miles stood up again and pretty much threw himself into the office, just in time to hear the opposite door slam shut. Miles had been facing the left entrance, so he had to look over his shoulder in order to see Waylon, panting and out of breath, lean against the desk.

Something that was not Waylon slammed itself into the window, banging on the wall. Waylon turned on the light, illuminating a distressed face plastered with tears of blood. “You don't understand!” Eddie cried, slouching against the window's edge. “I saw so cold, s-so hungry...A-All I wanted was a family, but everyone els-se always leaves me!” He sobbed, his voice turning rapidly into his deep, heaving laughter as he turned away and left.

Waylon breathed a shaky sigh. “You okay?” Miles asked, clutching his currently unread pieces of information as though his life depended on them.

“I think so...” Waylon stammered, looking back out the office window fearfully. Miles staggered forward and checked the time. It was quite early, indeed, so they'd luckily wasted a good percentage of their required time. However, they'd somehow managed to use more of their power than they'd wanted. Probably using the light in-

“Shit!” Miles snarled, flipping through the cameras while Waylon tried to keep track of the doors.

“What?” Waylon asked, still in panicking overdrive.

“We didn't turn the backstage light off.” Mile sighed loudly. “It's gonna drain our power.” A moment of powerful silence followed.

“So,” Waylon breathed. “Our options?”

“Sit back here and wait until we die, which could be momentary at this point,” Miles began, threading his fingers through his hair with a dark expression on his face. “Or try to make it out there and back. Though, depending on how long it takes, we might be able to leave by the time we're out there.”

“I don't really like the sound of sitting back here and dying...” Waylon muttered, hearing Miles bring out his folder again.

“Let's just exchange our documents here first.” Miles sighed, looking at both of his knew ones. The first one read:

“... _regarding the disappearance of several children at a birthday party that took place at the beloved Mount Massive Pizzeria. Initially, the report described only three children who were present in attendance. However, later added to this was the confirmed disappearance of 11-year-old cancer patient William 'Billy' Hope, present courtesy of [unreadable] Children's Hospital, with his caretaker Dr. Rudolph Wernicke, as well as other reports of a child who matched the description of missing child Eddie Gluskin having appeared and disappeared around the same time as the others._ ” Miles breathed deeply and tucked the article away in his folder, switching to the other one:

“ _...diagnosed with brain cancer two years ago, shortly before being orphaned and admitted to the hospital's permanent residency center. Dr. Wernicke assumed a parental role over him. Billy's disappearance is among the more baffling of these cases, as at the time he had lost most of his motor control at the time, particularly in his legs, and was wheelchair-bound along with his doctor. He had life support attached, which was lost along with his wheelchair.”_

“Those look like this one...” Waylon noted, reading over Miles' shoulder and bringing forth the one he'd gotten from the other hall corner. It made more sense now, indeed. He exchanged what he'd collected, but they were both disheartened to see that the unreadable parts of their documents were no more readable in the light. They were putting pieces together, and they knew what they needed to for now.

“We have places to be.” Miles said in a low, resigned voice. Waylon wondered what had suddenly crept into Miles' brain that had put such a look of resolution on his face. Waylon nodded.

“Should we head out there together?” He asked.

“Just run.” Miles stated flatly. “Just run.” With that, he turned and sprinted out the same way he'd come in, leaving Waylon to careen off in the other direction. He ran blindly, not even bothering to notice that Eddie wasn't in the hallway anymore. Frank was, holding what may have been a circular saw, but Waylon sprinted past his stuttering face too fast to be able to tell. He later wondered why there had been a circular saw in a pizzeria in the first place.

Waylon stumbled out into the main room and threw himself against the wall, just in time to hear Miles's footsteps shiver and stop. After a tense second, they returned, and Miles walked almost drunkenly out into the main room, where he slid along the wall towards Waylon.

“Miles?” Waylon whispered, close enough now to notice a large, dark spot glistening around Miles' stomach. Miles had one of his hands clamped over it, and with the other he was holding his folder and a set of keys. He held them out towards Waylon, with a strange smile on his face. “Miles, are you okay?”

“You took a cab here, right?” Miles asked, leaning the folder and his keys further towards Waylon. Waylon took them reluctantly, his hands shaking, and nodded. “Well, take my car. Leave. Take all of this, and go.”

“But, what about-” Waylon began, but Miles shook his head. Every heaving breath pushed more blood from what was now undeniably a wound.

“You have a chance.” Miles coughed, breathing heavily. “A chance to do what I couldn't. To save them.”

Clicking footsteps echoed from behind Miles as Doc slid up next to them. The guitar draped over his shoulders appeared to have been opened, and in one of his hand was a long, thin, bloodstained pair of scissors. He slowly lifted them and placed them into his guitar-case, then closing it again.

“Didn't mean to be too aggressive there, buddy.” Doc said calmly, laying a hand on Miles' shoulder. “But you know what I want here. I like ya, ya know.” Doc purred, leaning Miles towards him. “All I want is for you to join our little family here, but you have to make some sacrifices.” Miles just stared into his empty eyes an choked up a spattering of blood. Trager's mask was damp with new blood, and his empty socket appeared to be leaking as well. Waylon backed away slowly, beginning to make his planned escape.

“All we need to do is re-wire a few mechanisms, here and there, and put you in your exoskeleton, and you're good as gold.” Doc continued, pulling on Miles' jacket. Waylon slid away, narrowly missing Frank, who readied his circular saw for an easier target. Mile stared past him, and nodded at Waylon once.

Then his stomach burst into sawed blood, and he fell to his knees. Doc hauled his still-struggling body over his shoulder, and the two looked around, presumably for Eddie's confirmation. They saw something Waylon didn't and they scurried off. Waylon took a few shaky steps towards the dining area, pretty much numb from shock at this point.

Trying not to follow Frank and Doc with his eyes, Waylon was nearly bowled over by an unexpected and startling sensation. He turned around, feeling the force of the nudge hit him again. There was Foxy Walker, with desperation in his barely functional, glassy marble eyes. His mane was almost gone, and there were plenty of spots where his exoskeleton was damaged or broken, particularly near his orifices.

He nudged Waylon again, and Waylon wasn't sure how to react. He took a step back, and Foxy Walker angled his ears and shuffled back towards him. Waylon very slowly reached his hand up and touched Foxy Walker again, shushing him quietly.

“Find it...” Foxy Walker whined deeply. “Have to stop it...stop them...” Waylon petted Foxy Walker's ears like he was a dog, quite sure that on some level he could feel it and would be comforted by it. He seemed to relax just a little, nuzzling Waylon and brushing him with his tail affectionately. He stood up straight again, curling his tail around Waylon, and angled his ears towards the other side of the room. He whined and nudged Waylon again, and Waylon stroked his jaw.

“Go on, big guy.” Waylon urged, pushing Foxy Walker away slightly. Foxy Walker brushed Waylon's nose with his tail tip and trotted away hastily, but looked back as though expecting to follow him. Waylon did so, struggling to keep up with Walker's long strides. It took him a moment to realize that he was being led towards the backstage storage room, where he fled with all the speed he had left.

Waylon burst into the room, finding it still bright and untouched. The only thing that was out of place was the same wire-ridden boy from earlier, sitting in one corner and staring out balefully. His wires were tied to beams nearby, rigging him solidly in place. His eyes were fixed on something nearby, and it was not Waylon. He was gazing at a small device, like the insides of a mechanical toy, that was sitting beneath the shelves.

Waylon heard music start to play, slowly and haltingly, and soon became aware that it was coming from the very device that the boy was staring at so longingly. Waylon crouched down and crawled over to it, lifting it up very cautiously. The boy's hollow eyes followed him, some vague sad hope glistening from them. Waylon still had no idea what this little mechanical thing was, but it was playing music. He handed it to the unnamed boy, who he'd gone so far as to assume was Billy Hope.

The boy managed a mangled smile, stroking the musical machine reverently with shaking, weak hands. “Daddy...” He whispered, obviously not addressing Waylon, but rather the strange little thing in his hand. “D-Doctor...” Waylon didn't dare touch Billy, whose eyes were beginning to close, but rather, Waylon rose without a word and made to turn the light off. His task completed, Waylon departed, making sure not to disturb Billy Hope as he did so.

Waylon breathed a sigh of relief once he was on the other side of the door, but he did so all too soon. For, the moment that trembling breath passed his lips, the entire building emitted a deathly whir and went black.

Completely black. Immeasurably darker than it had been before, and it had already been pretty dark. This wasn't your average everyday darkness; as foolish as it seemed, it was _darker_ darkness.

Waylon felt for the wall behind him, now utterly unable to see and trying to guide himself.  _It's okay,_ He thought,  _I'm near the door. I'll be able to get to it..._ But he wasn't really fooling himself at all. He had to cross the main room first, and that meant wading out into endless darkness with no perception of what was around him. Tables? Chairs? Murderuos animatronics?

Waylon let go of the wall, moving forward slowly and stiffly. He didn't hit anythingwith his first few halting steps, but he felt something brush his leg, like a cat. He froze instantly, waiting for it to come again. There it was, swishing around his leg and brushing his hand. Whatever it was, it was quite large. He reached out and grabbed it, since it was obviously not afraid of him, and felt his fingers sink through layers of thick fur.

It was Foxy Walker's tail. He felt it move slightly beneath his hands, and Foxy Walker creaked a little and grunted. “Follow.” He ordered. Waylon gripped ahold of his tail and let himself be pulled along by Foxy Walker, trusting him at least a little. Trusting him enough.

Foxy Walker, despite his eyesight already being poor, managed to lead Waylon well. They did not hit anything, and the only sound they made was the clinking of Foxy Walker's broken chains and Waylon's heavy breathing. Eventually he stopped, and Waylon finally let go of his tail. Foxy Walker nudged Waylon towards the door, and Waylon patted his head affectionately.

“Thanks, big guy.” He murmured, hearing Foxy Walker bound off immediately. Waylon sighed and leaned against the wall, trying to regain his composure for a second. He was shaking too violently to open the door anyway.

Music began to fill the room, rebounding off the walls. It was definitely not Doc's guitar, or Frank's circular saw, or Foxy Walker's chains. It was music, and not anything like what the broken music box-like thing had been playing in the back room earlier. Much louder, in a different tune.

A tiny little light flickered in the almost pure blackness, broadcasting the location of two hollow eyes. “There you are, little darling. At last.” Eddie's harsh voice growled. “Aren't you so tired? Tired of running, of being afraid?”

Waylon righted himself, feeling like he was going to be sick from fear at this point, and faces what of Eddie's face was visible. He didn't answer, because whatever he said would only lead him into a worse situation. Eddie came closer, and Waylon staggered towards where he believed the door to be.

“Don't you want somewhere where you can be safe?” Eddie asked, what sounded like sadness ringing in his voice. “Somewhere where you don't have to leave, where you have a real family...” Waylon found the edge of the front door, trying to keep Miles' keys and information safe with his shaking opposite hand. “Don't you want to join our family? We may have put your friend away, I-I mean we may not have any more suits...” Waylon pushed his back to the wall. He was almost out.

Almost out.

“But that's the thing about families. They grow, they change, without limits. There is always room for more here in the Fazbear family, darling. We can make room for you. You won't ever hurt again...” Eddie sobbed uncontrollably, and Waylon could now see that he was holding a kitchen knife in one hand and a beat-up endoskeleton head in the other. He lunged towards Waylon, and in a moment of sheer terror and bravery, Waylon pushed against Eddie's face with both of his hands and sprinted away.

He just ran, like Miles had told him to. He ran. He sprinted to Miles car and got in it and drove away as quickly as possible, shaking and sweating and trying not to have to pull over and vomit somewhere on the side of the mountain road, then wondering why this damn pizzeria was so far out of town anyway. There were so many questions left unanswered, but the one he knew the answer to was that Miles was dead.

And he was the only one who could do anything about it. It was obvious that whoever ran that place was either negligent, shady, or murderous, and they weren't going to do a damn thing until the police came banging down their door. But Waylon had the evidence. Enough, he thought.

He got his bonus pay. Far below enough for what he and Miles had suffered. He tried to do what he could to help his poor dead friend, but obviously nothing was actually going to happen. Waylon tried to live his life, tried to pretend like when he woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat it wasn't because of nightmares about bleeding animatronics, or Miles' bloody body sinking into a black suit, or that horrible garbled robot voice and the black-and-silver specter that accompanied them.

He tried to put the pieces together, with what they'd collected, but it wasn't quite enough. He was sure, now, that the children who had disappeared there had been murdered, and their five respective bodies were indeed in those corroded robot suits. Those reports were closing the place down anyway, and Waylon somehow doubted the investigations would come up with anything conclusive. Whatever was going on there, it was being covered up quite well.

It was just a matter of who the murderer was, really. But the only thing Waylon had in that regard was a warped security pass, which was so badly scorched and mangled that the name on it was unreadable and the photo completely gone. He could make out ' _Security...Murkoff Entertainment_ ' along the bottom, but that was about it. He spent hours squinting at where this person's name would have been, and at last he was able to make out some of the letters.

He was quite sure that the last letter of the first name was a y, and the last letters of the last name could've been either -re or -ne. The letter before that looked like an i, but it could've been an l as well, or anything similar, really. Waylon could've gone back through Murkoff's entire employment roster for the past few months or so, but it didn't really matter since he didn't know if he was looking for a Yancy LaPine or a Danny Lane or a Larry Carre or what. He ended up quitting his job at Murkoff anyway; he couldn't live with them anymore.

He didn't have enough. He didn't know enough. He had sheet music, and that Toreador march was definitely what he'd heard before Eddie had appeared when the power was out. He had an unreadable badge and a few newspaper articles. Waylon began to worry that there was something bigger that they were supposed to have seen back there, that they'd missed the conclusive evidence. He began to worry if it was inevitable.

Because every time he drove past that turnout, with his wife sitting beside him and his sons in the backseat, his knuckles went white against the wheel and he gritted his teeth. He would never forget Miles' death, and the fact that it had been in vain because Waylon couldn't save them either. That place was closed now, from what he knew. So his sons would never beg to attend a birthday party that their friends were having there; his wife would never suggest taking them one afternoon. The only thing she mentioned about it was  _“That place you worked at is closed now, did you know? The pizzeria Murkoff owned...”_

He would have to go back there, someday. He wasn't finished with this mystery. But it was closed down, now. In shambles, probably. And he didn't work for Murkoff anymore, anyway. He couldn't go back, or so he told himself.

Until one day, when he sat down eagerly with copy of the local newspaper, the horrors of his past currently in the back of his mind behind the sweetness of the morning. As he did so, he froze solid, clutching the newspaper in one hand so hard that his hand began to shake. He stared blankly at the black headline printed before his face:

_Vintage Pizzeria Given New Life with Re-Vamped City Location, Repaired Animatronics_

_Now Hiring_

 


	3. Mangled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Creepy epilogue*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's what you think, but it's not over yet!! (B/c what I needed was another sequel to not write)

Among the winding, tangled cords snaking up the walls in the backstage storage room, what looked like a rewired endoskeleton was hanging, being loosely supported by the wires around it. Its jaw was lolling open, revealing an inner jaw and another set of endoskeleton teeth beyond that. Its barren beams had been adorned with important pieces, such as hands and an actual head, and a pale dress had been pulled over it. Its long, thin, sharp nails had been painted red, in stark contrast to its white gloves.

 A larger pair of hands reached up, pulling the strange thing's hair back and gently examining its white face. "Pretty, pretty..." A deep, crackling voice mumbled. "You're going to be so pretty..."

From a nearby doorway, two figures of varying sizes were peering in, not daring to enter or disturb their comrade in his endeavors. "How's he taking it?" A voice that was undoubtedly Frank Manera's asked.

"Not well." Doc rasped, keeping his ears angled towards Eddie in the corner of the storage room. "It's got two heads already, and I don't think he quite knows where the second one was supposed to go..." Eddie hummed and re-adjusted his creation's dress, which was full of holes and had wires poking out of it at numerous locations. The fabric around one hole was catching on something pressed beneath the dress that distorted the creature's anatomy, making it look even more deformed and unnatural than it had before.

Eddie had presumably done up its face as well, with perfect round red blush and lipstick lining its outer jaw. Its eyes hung lazily, making it obvious that this thing was not currently functioning. Its dress may have once been lovely, but it was now old and full of holes, and half broken wires. Eddie lifted a glossy ribbon and tied it around the creature's pencil-thin neck, allowing the ends to flicker over its dress.

A number of random parts were strewn on the floor beside Eddie, some of which may have been torn off of Foxy Walker, and others which he had probably found among the spare suit pieces. Doc and Frank were looking at him worriedly, wondering if they  should leave or intervene. Eddie would occasionally re-adjust his little friend's position among the wires in order to alter it differently.

It had messy, white, uncolored hair, shagging over its perfectly white face. Most of it was bare, just endoskeleton beams, aside from its dress, whatever alterations were beneath it, its head, layers of jaws, and hands and feet. It looked masculine aside from what Eddie had done to feminize it, making its gender indeterminable. Eddie pulled up a bit of its wiring and attached a new piece to it, humming and murmuring as though it could hear him.

"Eddie?" Doc called at last, his hands jerking randomly along his guitar.

"Yes?" Eddie replied casually.

"What are you doing?" Frank asked, dried blood clinging to his bib and his facial hair.

"I'm just preparing a little place for our new friend." Eddie answered softly. "A new friend. Isn't she beautiful? Our new friend will fit well." It was obvious that nothing would fit into that mess of parts at all, much less fit well. "I made it, see? Now our little darling will be able to see what he could be. A family member."

Doc's ears twitched, and his jaw hung open a little. "Is that so?" He rasped. Eddie nodded. "But didn't he get away?" Doc pried cautiously.

"He'll come back, the new one. They always do."


End file.
